


Under The Mountain

by TheLadyZephyr



Series: The Twice Told Tale of Thorin Oakenshield [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Plot, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 22:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8640499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyZephyr/pseuds/TheLadyZephyr
Summary: At last, the time has come for Thorin Oakenshield to face the tests that he once failed so utterly. The Dragon. The Gold. The Battle. The Orc.The fate of all he holds dear rests on the knife's edge of calamity, but he has sworn not to squander his second chance.  Thorin wakes up after the Battle of Five Armies the day the company is due to meet their new burglar in Hobbiton. He must find a way to use his knowledge to change their fate, yet dealing in secrets and subtlety does not play to his strengths. Thankfully, as always, he has Bilbo Baggins to cover his shortcomings.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are for round three folks! Please note that unlike the previous parts this piece is _not yet finished!_
> 
> Life is being amazing but very busy, so writing hasn't been happening this year, but I figured I should at least take everyone to the other side of the cliffhanger.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> \- Zee

Thorin Oakenshield stood hand in hand with Bilbo Baggins in the dim light of the Lonely Mountain, and listened to the bass rumble of the dragon’s breath. He looked up to meet the hobbit’s eyes, and Bilbo gave him a fleeting little smile and a nod. _For better or worse, the time has come to face the greatest calamity of my people._ He inhaled slowly, and let the breath out in a controlled exhale. _This time, I will not foist the danger onto someone else. As it should have been from the start._

Thorin gave Bilbo’s hand a last squeeze, and let go. They crept forward the last few feet to the entry to the treasury; their footfalls sounded unnaturally loud to the king’s ears. He put a hand on the edge of the doorway to brace himself, and his breath hitched at the sight before him.

The vast wealth of the kingdom of Erebor gleamed beautifully in the reflected golden light. Piles upon piles of shining coins and glittering jewels; trinkets and treasures beyond compare. Bilbo reached up to place a steadying hand on his shoulder, and Thorin gripped the acorn tightly, concentrating on the feeling of the wood against his palm. The sensation cleared the whispered beginnings of the golden melody weaving through his mind, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“So… how exactly did we manage this last time?” whispered Bilbo nervously.

Thorin quirked his lips.

“Yes, well… to be honest I am not entirely sure.”

Bilbo made a noise like a startled cat, and Thorin looked out over the cavern in alarm. There was no sign of Smaug, but his slow breathing echoed seemingly from all directions at once. Bilbo clapped a hand over his mouth, wincing apologetically before rounding on the king.

“What do you _mean_ you’re not sure?!” he hissed angrily, “He died last time, didn’t he?”

Thorin averted his eyes, trying to ignore the upwelling of shame.

“Last time, we failed to kill the beast, and he descended upon Laketown,” he leant down to whisper in the hobbit’s ear. “Bard felled it, but I know not how.”

Bilbo looked up at him, eyes widening in horrified comprehension. Thorin knew he was thinking of Bard and his children, and the rest of the people of Laketown. The hobbit frowned, and set his jaw in determination.

“We are not going to let that happen again,” he murmured resolutely.

“No,” Thorin agreed softly, “We are not.”

He took a step through the doorway, leaning forward to peer down the stairs. The treasury was unnaturally still, and he still couldn’t pinpoint the dragon’s location.

Bilbo took his elbow and pulled him gently back into the sheltering entryway, speaking quickly and quietly, “We need a _plan._ Think, Thorin! Do dragons have any weaknesses?”

“I _have_ been thinking, for days now, and I have not come up with anything at all,” he replied irritably, forcing himself to keep his volume low.

The hobbit put a hand on his chin, brow furrowed in thought.

“What about an eye?” he asked hesitantly, eyes flicking up to Thorin’s. “Like with the troll?”

The king tilted his head to the side, frowning.

“It might work, with the elven blades… but we’d never get close enough.”

Bilbo’s face lit up.

“What if Smaug was distracted?”

“Distracted?” Thorin asked with a sinking feeling.

“I’ll go down, and get him talking; you sneak up on him, and –“

“No,” Thorin interrupted.

Bilbo put his hands on his hips, scowling.

“Thorin, don’t be silly,” he said, exasperated.

“I _will not_ allow you to be bait, Bilbo,” the king replied. “I let you face the dragon alone once. Under no circumstances will I repeat that mistake.”

Bilbo looked torn between being cross and being pleased. He settled for crossing his arms, but blushing furiously. Thorin leant forward, running a thumb lightly over the hobbit’s cheek, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile as the motion caused Bilbo’s skin to turn an even deeper shade of red.

“I can’t risk you,” he whispered, unable to stop the little break in his voice. He swallowed thickly. “Not now.”

“Well. This is all very… _touching_ …” came a deep, resonating voice, “but I’m still inclined to eat you, given that you have disturbed my slumber, _dwarf.”_

Bilbo gasped in alarm, and Thorin flung an arm out instinctively, pushing the hobbit behind him protectively. They both stared wildly out through the doorway, but all they could see was the stairs leading down to the mountains of gold coins; no dragon.

“Come out where I can see you, _Son of Durin. _Or are you a coward?” Smaug rumbled.

Thorin pressed a fleeting kiss against Bilbo’s lips, and mouthed “Stay here!”

Then he drew _Orcrist_ and stepped out into the treasury.

The few coins scattered on the stone platform clinked underfoot. The air was thick and still, and all was silent save the thudding of his heart in his ears. Thorin shifted his grip on _Orcrist_ _,_ keeping the blade ready as he stepped slowly out further into the hall. He moved cautiously down the stairs, eyes scanning frantically, trying to locate the fire drake. The reflected light created strange shadows around the mounds of treasure, and his imagination picked out irregular lumps and transformed them into the body of the beast. _Could that be his tail? A wing?_

“ _Ahhhhh_ _….”_ Came the dragon’s voice, and Thorin whirled, facing back to the entryway.

Smaug lay curled against the tiered wall, his mammoth chin resting on the level above the doorway where he’d stood with Bilbo. His hindquarters and tail were buried in the piles of coins, his neck arched up and over where the king had entered; he’d walked directly beneath him.

“Welcome to _my_ mountain, Thorin the _homeless._ Thorin the _fatherless._ King of _nothing.”_

Thorin bared his teeth in a snarl, anger overcoming his fear.

“You are looking older and fatter since last I saw you, oh Smaug the Pitiful,” he spat.

The dragon’s slitted eyes widened, and the reptilian pupils dilated. 

“It appears you would prefer to perish _swiftly,”_ he hissed, and Thorin began to take slow steps backwards, the coins shifting as he brought his weight down on them.

“Can you even move swiftly, Smaug the Sluggish?” he asked brashly, edging further away and to the side.

Smaug lifted his head and barred the lengths of his massive, sharp teeth, putrid breath rolling out with a subsonic growl.

“I will _feast_ on your _flesh,_ dwarf, like I dined on your people. My _teeth_ are  blades, my _breath_ is a firestorm. I am your _death!”_

With the last, rumbling word the dragon gathered his gargantuan weight and launched forward. Thorin sprinted sideways, staggering through the heaped treasure to throw himself around a column. Smaug followed, his advance swift and inevitable as the incoming tide. The king slid further into the cavern, losing control of his descent as the coins beneath him cascaded downwards. The dragon’s claws shook the mountain with each step, and Thorin bit down on his mounting panic. There was just something about being hunted by a beast that could swallow him whole that bypassed all logical thought and shot straight through to instinctual terror.

“What manner of creature have you brought to _die_ with you, _King of the Paupers?”_ Smaug asked as Thorin ducked around a corner, throwing his back against the wall and trying to muffle his ragged panting. “I can _smell_ his scent on you. When I have eaten you, I will make sure that he _burns._ ”

Protective fury masked Thorin’s fear, and he snarled wordlessly, flinging himself out from behind the wall with _Orcrist_ held in both hands.  Smaug rushed by overhead, and the edge of an outstretched wing caught the king in the chest, knocking the breath from his lungs with the force of an avalanche and sending him tumbling backwards down the slope.

He smashed into a stone alcove with a bone-jarring jolt and a flash of red, and lay in a crumpled heap, limbs spasming as he tried in vain to get back up again. The edges of his vision had turned black, and his head was ringing from the blow against the stone. _Get up you fool!_ he thought desperately, looking up to see Smaug grinning down at him as he lazily stalked forward, his tongue flicking out to run languidly over his yellow teeth.

Thorin managed to prop himself up on one elbow, muscles screaming in protest. _No,_ he thought wildly, _I cannot die, not now; I have to save the boys! _

“Any last words, before I render your people _kingless_ yet again?” the fire drake crooned, lowering his head down and opening his maw wide.

“I could ask you the same thing,” came Bilbo’s voice, clear and loud over the muddle of Thorin’s thoughts.

Smaug looked up, brow furrowed in momentary confusion. Thorin twisted to look up at the top of the wall behind him in time to see Bilbo appear atop the platform, _Sting_ gripped tightly in his hand. The dragon’s breath made the  halfling’s curls blow back from his face, and his eyes were hard and cold.

“Leave. Him. Alone.” 

And he launched himself off the edge and buried Sting in the dragon’s eye.

Smaug _roared,_ flinging his head back and writhing in agony, lashing about screeching and snarling. Bilbo went flying, and Thorin cried out in terror as the hobbit hurtled into a treasure heap, coins exploding outward from the force of the impact.

“ _DDEEEEAAAAATTTTHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”_ screamed the dragon, and he belched out a continuous stream of white hot flame, twisting about mindlessly so that ribbons of it covered the entire treasury.

Thorin cried out in pain as the coins beneath him heated to skin-searing levels, but he managed to clamber to his knees and start crawling towards Bilbo. He pulled the hobbit’s still form up into his arms, clutching at him in panic, his mind a gibbering mess of terror. _Bilbo… oh please, Bilbo…_

Smaug suddenly stilled with his head tilted up towards the cavern ceiling. For several beats the treasury was utterly silent save for the crackling of the fires that the drake had started. Then the reptilian head slowly swivelled around to face them.

The dragon’s right eye was a ruined mess of black ichor. It was still bubbling out sluggishly, running down over his scales to drip steadily to the floor far below. The fire drake’s remaining eye was wide and staring straight at them, blank of any discernible emotion. The frozen, animalistic gaze evoked more mindless horror in Thorin than any of the monster’s snarls and threats. He wrapped his arms around Bilbo, pulling him close and cradling him gently. _This will mark the second time I die with you by my side, Bilbo Baggins._

“OI!” called a familiar voice, “SLUG!”

The dragon shuddered, twisting jerkily to look to one side, twitching convulsively. Standing on a walkway, with his swords held steady by either side, was Fíli.

_No._

_Not Fíli._

Without a whisper of a warning, Smaug launched himself at dwarf prince like a monolithic battering ram. Thorin’s nephew rolled sideways and the dragon crashed muzzle first into the ledge, crumbling the stone like it was charcoal. 

“HAH! About as slow as I’d expect from a fat little worm!” cried Kíli in scornful glee from the opposite side of the treasury.

Thorin’s head whipped around to see the archer loose an arrow from his bow, which zipped across to ping harmlessly off the scales of the dragon’s cheek.

“Oh Kíli…” Thorin whispered weakly in disbelief.

Smaug inhaled, chest glowing with kindling flames, and Kíli turned and sprinted backwards as the drake belched forth a thick, white hot stream of fire. The king choked out a cry as his nephew flung himself down a set of stairs and out of sight before the flames blocked Thorin’s view. _Did he make it?!_

“Over here, filth!”

“No! This way, scabby-scales!”

“Come and taste some dwarvish iron up your jacksie, ugly!”

The company’s voices echoed from every side of the treasury, and Thorin was overcome with gratitude and pride. _What have I done to deserve such loyalty?_

Smaug whirled, body undulating as he swarmed across the treasury, wordless screeches echoing harshly off of the stone walls. His claws flashed as he swiped, but all his finesse had been lost to mindless wrath, and the company were able to disappear safely down corridors and behind columns. The dragon hurled his gargantuan body at the wall of the cavern; once, then twice, and deep cracks spread from the point of impact. Sections of the stone began to splinter off entirely, crashing booms adding to the cacophony as they fell to the floor.

Thorin gathered Bilbo’s still body and rolled them sideways with a yell as a particularly large boulder showered them in dust as it bounced past. The hobbit’s limbs flopped limply, and Thorin felt like jagged claws were piercing his heart. _Please Mahal. Bilbo… oh please._

He looked up sharply as he heard Fíli cry out in panic. The prince was falling backwards as the walkway he was standing on collapsed beneath his feet. Smaug’s head flicked around at the sound, and he lashed out viciously with his tail to smash the remainder of the platform beneath Fíli to rubble.

The resulting avalanche of rock slid to a halt not a dozen yards from where Thorin and Bilbo lay. Fíli had been carried down with it, and to his dismay Thorin saw that his nephew was buried up to his hips.

Above them the fire drake raised his wings high to either side, stretching them out so that they spread to their full width. Thorin felt his jaw drop open in awe.

There, on the chest below the left wing, was a gaping hole in the dragon’s plated armour.

“ _Fíli_ _…”_ he whispered in horror as the prince struggled vainly.

 _No…_ thought Thorin, glancing down at Bilbo, then back up at his nephew. Indecision tore his insides to tatters.

 _No. No. No._ The dragon started forward slowly, his remaining eye wide and gleaming with madness.

Thorin shook Bilbo desperately, and the hobbit’s head lolled.

“Bilbo, _please…_ please wake, _khathizamral_ _-e_ …”

Smaug was picking up speed as he thundered down towards them, and Thorin’s despairing gaze landed on a gleam of silver metal amidst the gold, partway between him and Fíli.

_Orcrist_ _._

The elegant blade had fallen to the ground forgotten when he’d been knocked down earlier. 

The king looked back down at Bilbo’s pale face, and it felt like he was teetering on the edge of a bottomless chasm. 

He let out a wordless snarl that tore at his throat, and wrenched himself away from Bilbo. Blood rushed in his ears, thudding deafeningly, and his muscles ached with a fierce burning pain. He planted booted feet amongst the coins, propelling himself forward as the dragon descended on them.

Thorin crouched to grasp _Orcrist_ as he barrelled past, fingers closing around the hilt without slowing his breakneck pace. He launched himself up over the rocks, past  Fíli as his nephew reached a hand towards him in shock.

Smaug lowered his head and opened his jaws as he closed the final distance between them. Thorin brought _Orcrist_ up against his shoulder, aiming the quivering tip to line up with the drake’s unarmoured heart.

He ducked past the edge of Smaug’s slavering maw.

And threw his weight forward to bury _Orcrist_ in the dragon’s flesh. 

He had a crystalline moment of beautiful, all-encompassing triumph. _I did it. I actually did it!_

Then the dragon’s mass crashed into him, and everything was whirling, painful chaos. 

When the king regained a sense of where his limbs were positioned, he was lying face down in the coins. He noted the rusty, metallic taste of blood in his mouth, and the tingling pain spread over the entirety of his body.

He tentatively tried to inhale. It was painful, but not excruciatingly so. Gritting his teeth, he got an elbow beneath himself and pushed. _Everything_ ached. He managed to rise to his hands and knees, breath shuddering harshly as he panted.

“Thorin!” said a concerned voice at his side, and Dwalin’s armoured hands entered his wavering vision.

He let his friend help him turn over, stifling the gasp bubbling up in his throat. Dwalin was staring at him with very wide eyes.

“What?” he croaked, something skirting around the edges of his consciousness.

Dwalin cleared his throat and jerked his head behind them. Thorin turned.

Smaug’s wide, staring eye glared down at him.

Still.

Blank.

Dead.

Realisation crashed home and he surged to his feet. Dwalin hurriedly stood as well, grabbing his arm to steady him as his vision swam and he swayed to the side.

He looked around frantically, ignoring the flashes of pain that the motion caused. 

“Fíli?! Bilbo?!” he asked wildly.

“I’m here Thorin,” came his nephew’s voice, and he spun to see Fíli limping up with an arm thrown around his brother’s shoulders. “Óin’s with Bilbo…”

Thorin stepped away from Dwalin, dread flooding him as Fíli trailed off uncertainly.

“Where?” he barked, and both of his nephews glanced back the way they had come.

The king shrugged off Dwalin’s hand when the warrior tried to hold his arm, and stepped up the treasure pile as quickly as his quivering legs would allow. He skirted Smaug’s corpse to find Bofur and Óin standing over Bilbo.

The hobbit’s entire left side was a mess of mottled bruises, and he was already sporting the beginnings of what promised to be a spectacular black eye. His blue coat was dotted with black, circular singe marks.

And he was awake.

The hobbit looked past Óin to meet Thorin’s eyes, and broke into the single most beautiful smile the king had ever seen in the entirety his two lives. _Thank you,_ he thought fervently, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

Then he strode forward to drop to Bilbo’s side, grab a fistful of the halfling’s curls, and pulled him forward into a crushing kiss.

“Well then,” said Bofur airily, and Dwalin let out a surprised grunt.

Kíli gave a ringing whoop, and Fíli muttered “About time!” under his breath.

Thorin ignored them all, and set about celebrating by exploring as much of Bilbo’s mouth as possible.

All things considered, he figured he deserved it.


End file.
